Reign of a Billionaire : A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

“He’s too scared of Mother,” I grunted, stomping on a pile of hard-packed snow to release some of my irritation. “And that fucking bodyguard will rip anyone apart who tries to get near us.” The first smile of the day passed between us. “Maybe we should stay out here,” she said pensively. “Build an igloo.”

I shuddered despite my warm coat, but my twin could be convincing, which was how we ended up attempting to build an igloo for the next hour, almost freezing to death.

A tear rolled down my face. I missed her so much. The talks we had. The hugs she gave me. She always had my back.

A throb started in my temples, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping to get some relief.

My thoughts strayed back to the dark-eyed stranger from the restaurant whose burning eyes had caught me off guard. I had never experienced such loathing aimed at me, and that was saying a lot—I wasn’t exactly a likable person thanks to my blood relations.

Yet there was something about that mysterious man. He knew me. I didn’t know how, but I’d stake my life on it. I dug through my memory, trying to remember where I’d seen him, but the harder I tried, the more my head ached.

My eyes traveled aimlessly over the bedroom that’d witnessed my past, present, and possibly my future—however long it might be. Half-completed sketches lay across the bedspread—the faceless man plaguing my dreams, terrorized women haunting my waking hours, my twin. My chest tightened and my breaths turned shallow.

The despair. The shame. The disappointment. I’d been guilt-ridden over my sister’s death for eight years, unable to move on. The video of my twin’s torture had been tattooed into my brain cells, refusing to ease the pain.

I reached for the sketch of my sister’s face with trembling fingers.

“I wish it had been me, Lou,” I whispered, my voice shaking. I’d give anything to have her with me, to talk to her, to ask her questions. I loved her so much, and she loved me. The only person that ever did.

The grandfather clock chimed, telling me it was midnight. Once it stopped, the eerie silence of the house returned, sending chills up my spine. This place wasn’t a home; it was a prison. I’d grown up in this manor, blinded by the horrors these walls hid.

No matter how many times it was cleaned and polished, or how shiny the chandeliers and furniture were, there was no hiding the evil that lurked within these walls and hid in the basement.

A knot twisted in my gut, and soon a sob escaped my throat, followed by many more. Each one lined with loneliness and regret. I cried for my sister, for myself, and something else that seemed to be missing in my life.

Was it a mother’s love? My father’s?

I gave my head a subtle shake. You couldn’t mourn something you never had. Couldn’t miss something you never felt.

Pulling myself together, I shifted my energy to the restaurant’s surveillance. Something about that stranger with dark eyes wouldn’t let me be. Once I was inside their security system, I honed in on the right day and time. My fingers flew across the keyboard, speeding up the surveillance until I saw him again.

I studied his expressionless face. Dark eyes. His features were angular and cold—sharp cheekbones, olive skin, a dusting of semi-silver stubble, and full lips in a hard line. He had the look of a man who was drowning. A man who mourned.

Like me.

But then his face tilted, like he knew exactly where the cameras were, and he stared right at me. The screen froze, and something in the pit of my stomach tugged at me, warning me that he was someone I should stay away from. Still, curiosity nudged me to look him up.

I ran facial recognition in the FBI database. Nothing. I tried the CIA’s. Nothing. Then I tried the dark web. Still nothing.

I stood up abruptly and started pacing, agitated. Every roadblock and unanswered puzzle fueled my tension higher. I fought the urge to smash my laptop to bits before taking a deep breath and cooling my temper.

My phone buzzed and I reached for it, taking a seat again and unlocking it. My brows knitted.

Unknown number: You’re welcome.

Frowning, I clicked open the message and found an attachment. A newspaper article. My brow furrowed further as I read through the old clipping. A picture of a boy appeared on my screen. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

Me: Who’s this?

Unknown number: For saving the women.